Day 87

5.01: Roman Polanski seemed to dog my bank holiday weekend. He’s decided to speak out against the US judicial system, which he claims wants “to serve me on a platter to the media of the world.” So, presumably, he thought it best to go turkey and vote Christmas, serving himself up basted with strips of bacon on his back and sausagemeat stuffing up his bum.

Admittedly, he makes some pretty reasonable points in his rather eloquent rant in the French online magazine La Regle du Jeu, not the least of which is that he’s woefully short of money since he was arrested last year, and had to mortgage his home to stump up the bail money.

He takes a pop at District Attorney Steve Cooley, who’s in charge of his file, and also hopeful of becoming California’s Attorney General, saying, “the same causes are now producing the same effects. The new District Attorney, who is handling this case and has requested my extradition, is himself campaigning for election and needs media publicity!”

Sounds dodgy doesn’t it? And it is. But isn’t it a co-oincidence that Polanski who admits he’s got cash flow problems himself, has also got a blockbusting film a couple of weeks into its run in cinemas around the world, and which – with a little help from its friends – might just eek out a lucrative little extension?

Speaking of which: I saw it this weekend. And what a rotten film it is. It’s a bit like watching a boy scout orienteering exercise, except all the boy scouts are driving swanky silvery cars, and all the voices have been dubbed over by the cast of Spinal Tap. Except Piers Brosnan’s, which – as always – is so archly fruity and wry he sounds like a wood chipper gargling with vintage port and chocolate.

And if that had been the plot of the film, it would have clunked far less.

6.58: Exciting times. Penultimate chapter done; final one begins tomorrow. Except that’s not strictly true – there’s a whole bunch of other stuff to go back and fit in. But, we’re one chapter away from a first draft, even if it is first draft with a pretty debilitating flaw. In the words of Milk Kan, “it’s like a crackhead without a pipe/ it’s like a B&H without a light/ it’s like Saturday night without a fight/ it’s like REM without Michael Stipe…”